


Wish Me Luck As You Wave Me Goodbye

by GayGremlin



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940s, Homophobic Language, M/M, Marriage, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, So Fluff and Angst, Sorta song fic, WW2 era, breifly implied sexual content, bucky gets drafted, but also sweet, i'm a slut for that, it's pretty angsty, not legally of course since it's the 1940s, proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 16:17:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19949164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GayGremlin/pseuds/GayGremlin
Summary: Bucky got drafted, and Steve is terrified.  He doesn't know what he will do without him.  He wants to scream and cry.  He hates feeling this helpless.  All he wants to do is cling onto Bucky until the end of time.  He can't leave.  He can't.With a little over a week left until his best guy's departure, Steve wants to make the best of their time.He wants to go with him.He wants to love him.*please read the notes at the beginning*





	Wish Me Luck As You Wave Me Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm a slut for pre-serum Steve/Bucky, so here I am. This fic is vaguely inspired by the song "We'll Meet again" by Vera Lynn, which is a song written in 1939 from the perspective of a soldier who is leaving to go fight in the war and telling his lover that they will meet again soon enough and that they should hold their head up high while he is gone. It is a very beautiful song, and I highly suggest that you listen to it. It is also the song that is quoted in the last paragraph of this fic, so keep that in mind.  
> For a warning, this fic contains homophobic language that was used during that time. It also has incopious amounts of angst since apparently I am physically incapable of writing fluff. But it also has plenty of sweet moments.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

"Stevie…"

'Oh no, oh god no.'

"Yeah, Buck?" Although he tried to keep his voice steady, he couldn't keep it from shaking. He didn't want to hear what came next. He already knew, but it hurt so much more to hear it spoken aloud.

"Stevie, I… I got drafted."

Even though he had seen it coming, it still felt like a punch in the gut. His mind went blank. Bucky couldn't go off to fight in a war that he would likely not return from. No, Steve needed him here with him. He needed to be able to wake up every morning tangled in his best guy's arms, toned from working the docks day in and day out, needed to feel the soft kiss on the back of his neck and the quiet, affectionate murmur of "mornin' doll".

He needed to be there when Bucky stumbled into the apartment late on a Saturday night, drunk out of his mind, but always returning to his Stevie. He would never stay the night at whichever dame it was that he had spent the evening wooing and dancing with, never going further than a convincing peck on the lips, or a flattering, flirtatious comment.

No, he loved Steve. And Steve loved him.

Bucky couldn't just leave. He couldn't leave Steve all alone and miserable in their shitty Brooklyn apartment, which wasn't so shitty with him in it. 

"Steve?..."

He hadn't realized that he had zoned out. 

"Oh…" was all he could manage to croak out. But he knew it wasn't good enough, so he continued, even though he would have loved nothing more than to crawl up into a ball, sit in the corner, and sob himself dry for the next century and a half. "So when do you leave?"

Bucky sighed, looking a type of helpless that Steve had never seen from him before. And he didn't like it, not one bit. 

"I leave for boot camp next Tuesday." It was currently a Monday. Eight more days until Bucky left. Eight more days until Steve would see Bucky for what would possibly be the last time.

"Well," he started, voice cracking. "I… I'll miss you pal."

"Aw, come on Stevie," Bucky said quietly, giving him a signature lopsided grin (which at this moment in time was not convincing in the slightest), giving him a light punch in the shoulder. "We still got some time, and I don't wanna spend it moping around."

Steve gave him a weak smile in return.

"Yeah," he replied in a stronger voice, trying to assure himself that everything would be fine. Bucky would be fine. Once this horrible war was over, Bucky would return home to him, where he would greet him with open arms and a deep, passionate kiss that would soon turn sloppy when they returned to the privacy (and safety) of their apartment. "Yeah, you're right."

Things would be fine.

"Well of course I'm right," he chuckled. "Aren't I always?"

This pulled a snicker from Steve.

"Uh-huh, yeah," he retorted. "Believe what you want, darlin'."

"Punk."

"Jerk."

***

Three days.

Three days until Bucky was shipped off to be shaped into a suitable soldier. 

And Steve couldn't be more scared.

Currently the two were laying in their shared bed (one of the most uncomfortable, lumpy, and creaky beds in existence, mind you), the time being around midnight. Steve could hear Bucky's steady breathing, deep in slumber, but as for himself, he couldn't fall asleep for the life of him. 

Steve had spent the last 5 days mastering the art of worrying about Bucky. On Bucky's part, he was spending as much time at home with Steve (or out and about with Steve, but in a strictly platonic way. The last thing they needed was to give anyone any reason to call Steve a fairy more often than they already did). He kissed him more often (not that he wasn't kissing him often before), constantly having a hand on Steve's back or around his shoulder, and constantly reaffirming what Steve meant to him. Steve hadn't seen him act like such a sap in a long time- not that he was complaining.

He could hear the bedside clock ticking, and it felt deafening in his ears. Tick, tick, tick. Time was moving faster than Steve could handle. It felt more like he was awaiting the end of the world rather than something as common as… this. Or, what was common nowadays at least. 

"Stevie?" a groggy voice came from beside him. Apparently he had been more restless than he thought, probably accidentally kicking Bucky's shins or jabbing an elbow into his side. "You still up?"

"Yeah," he murmured in response. Steve felt Bucky wrap his arms around his midsection, making him feel slightly more at ease. 

"You know I love you, right?"

Steve gave a sharp inhale. Of course, they had exchanged "I love you"s before, but those moments were very few and far between. They had only said it a few times, and not because it wasn't true, but because it was dangerous. Each time they said it they felt more and more out of control with their emotions. And that was dangerous. They couldn't be caught. If they were caught, they would be shunned by strangers and friends alike, or worse, arrested. They could be sent to one of those places where they sent all the other queers to 'fix them'…. And the people that are sent there are never the same upon return.

Of course they loved each other. They both knew it. But the more they said it outright, the more desperate they became.

"Stevie?" came Bucky's voice. "You okay?"

Steve shook his head, bringing himself back into the present. 

"Yeah, 'm sorry Buck."

"... did I say something wrong?"

"No… no. Just…"

He was struggling to articulate exactly what he wanted to say.

He knew what he wanted to say of course:

'I'm terrified to lose you. I don't know what I would do without you. I hate that you're leaving me behind. I should be going with you, not staying here like some helpless cripple. I don't wanna receive one of those condolence letters in the mail telling me that you died. I love you too much to have you die out in some unknown, bombed-out village in Europe. I wish nothing more than to stay in bed with you forever and never have to deal with all the shit the world throws at us. I love you, I love you, I love you.'

He could hear the rustling of sheets as Bucky propped himself up on an elbow. 

"... I just love you. And I don't want to lose you, idiot."

Bucky chuckled, but it was too dry to be carefree and humorous. 

"Steve Rogers, ever the romantic."

"Ah, stuff it," he quipped, but there was no fight in it. It was more out of affection than anything else. 

There was a brief silence before-

"Promise me you won't die out there."

Another beat of silence.

"I promise."

***

It was the night before Bucky was to leave. They (or more accurately, Bucky) had decided to spend the evening on a double date with a couple of dames that Steve had already managed to forget the names of. He didn't particularly want to go, but since when did he ever when it came to the many dates that Bucky had dragged him on over the years. Girls never liked sickly, blunt, pitiful Steve Rogers. Not that he wanted a dame. He had Bucky, and that's all he could ever need. But it still would have been nice to have a dame or two to be infatuated with him as they were with Bucky. 

Bucky had just finished buttoning up his uniform, facing the mirror. Once done, he turned to Steve with the lopsided, boyish grin that Steve couldn't help but love.

"How do I look?"

Steve smirked. 

"Still queer as ever." This pulled a genuine belly laugh from the other.

"Alright, punk," he teased with a tone of false indignance, voice fluctuating from laughter. They quieted, smiling humorously at each other.

"Not as queer as you."

This sent them both into a fit of howling laughter. It wasn't as funny as they were making it seem to be, but what else could they do? The world was a scary place for people like them. Laughing about it made them feel more at ease. But the feeling never went away, the fear always lingered. 

Soon enough, their laughter subsided.

"No, but really, you look handsome, per usual," Steve consented in an affectionate, soft voice. Bucky gave him an equally soft smile in return. 

"Thanks, doll," he replied in a quiet voice. He sighed. "Well, we better get goin' I guess. We don't want those dames waitin' on us too long, do we Stevie?"

Steve sighed deeply as he stood up from where he had been sitting at the kitchen table. 

"I suppose not," he responded, his lack of enthusiasm evident in both his (already poor) posture, along with his tone. 

Bucky, who was already at the door, courteously handed Steve his coat from where it had been hanging on the coat rack. Steve raised his eyebrows and gave a dramatic "Why thank you good sir!" dripping with sarcasm, eliciting a laugh from both of them before throwing on their coats and heading out the door, making sure to lock it behind them (they didn't live in a very trustworthy neighborhood, after all). 

The night was boring to say the least. Aside from the fact that they were at an elaborate show hosted by the one and only Howard Stark, the night was fairly predictable. They picked up the dames from their homes (Bucky being kind enough to remind him of their names, Clarice and Constance), giving each a peck on the cheek. They had gone to a restaurant for a bite to eat, Steve's own date (Constance) losing interest in him fairly quickly and turning her attention and flattery to Bucky like all the girls always did. Bucky would give them his signature cheeky grin that had all the girls swooning, would sweet talk them to Hell and back, and eventually have an arm draped around each of their shoulders (anything to keep up appearances, right?). Steve would be practically invisible to the girls, not that he would have much to say to them anyway. Bucky was always better at wooing the ladies than he was, so Steve tended have him flirt for the both of them.

***

When they finally returned home it was around 10 p.m., which would usually be considered early for them, or for Bucky at least, but on this night they wanted to be home as early as possible. Bucky was to leave at around 5:30 the next morning. Seven and a half hours from then. And Steve wanted to make the most of what little time remained.

After ridding themselves of their coats, and Bucky taking off his uniform, folding it nicely and laying it on a chair in the living room, they just sighed and gazed into each other's eyes for a moment, looks filled with uncertainty and sadness, but still containing a sense of hopefulness. 

They still had some time.

Bucky would return home.

Everything would be fine.

"Well Stevie," Bucky started, clearing his throat.

"Yeah?" Steve responded, voice cracking (damn it, he promised himself that he wouldn't be such a debbie downer on their last night!).

Before he knew it, he was being pulled into a near-suffocating embrace. He wrapped his bony arms around Bucky's midsection in return, forehead resting in the crook of his neck while Bucky's chin rested on the top of his head, Steve inhaling deeply.

It smelled like Bucky.

It smelled like home.

"I love you," Steve whispered, and he felt Bucky's chest vibrate with a light chuckle.

"I love you too, punk."

They didn't often say "I love you", but this was to be their last night together for a long while, perhaps ever, and, well, neither of them were exactly keen on wasting it.

Steve lifted his head and met Bucky's lips with his own, softly at first but soon growing more passionate. Luckily the blinds of their windows had been closed earlier that day in anticipation of this. They couldn't have anyone see them, not in a million years. 

Later that night, as they lay naked and exhausted in their bed, Bucky asked a question that would send Steve's head spinning.

"If we could get hitched, would you do it?" Steve whipped his head around so fast that his neck popped, creating that uncomfortable buzzing ache that it entailed. Rubbing his neck, he responded with wide eyes-

"What?" It came out in a higher pitch than he intended.

"If we could get hitched, would you do it?" he repeated in a strong, unwavering voice. "Would you marry me, Steve?"

Steve just stared at him, mouth agape and eyes wide in disbelief. He had to be kidding, right? They both knew that it was completely and utterly impossible for them to make their relationship public, let alone get married. 

"Buck…" he started. "Buck, you know we can't." He didn't want to kid himself. He didn't want to make himself feel even more hopeless than he already did.

"Yeah, but if we could, would you?" he repeated again, sounding almost urgent, very obviously dead serious. "If this was a perfect world an' we could get hitched without anyone givin' us grief, would you do it?"

Steve sighed shakily. 

"Of course I would, Buck," he said quietly, feeling himself tear up. "Of course I would."

At that, Bucky smiled, and it was the most genuine smile that Steve had seen from him in the past week.

"Well, then I have somethin' to give ya, pal."

Turning from facing steve to the bedside table, he opened the drawer and pulled out a small pouch tied at the top with a piece of thread.

"Buck-"

"I know it wouldn't be official or anything, but I thought…"

He untied the thread, letting the cloth of the bag fall to the sides.

In his hand were two rings, obviously cheap and definitely not what would be considered wedding ring-material, but rings nonetheless.

"I thought maybe on our last night we could… we could kid ourselves. Just for a night."

Steve felt as if he had stopped breathing (something that wasn't necessarily good, considering his asthma), and he could feel heavy tears start to roll down his cheeks.

"We can ignore everything Stevie, we could wear 'em on our ring finger even, jus' for tonight. Then we can wear 'em on a chain around our necks."

Steve sniffled, lip quivering, squeezing his eyes shut tight.

'I won't cry, I won't cry, I won't cry, not on our last night, not when we have so little time left.'

Despite his determination to not cry, he felt a sob bubbling from his throat and felt himself gasp for air.

"Bucky… of course."

Bucky's eyes were watering at this point as well, and he gave Steve a shaky smile. 

"Well, then give me your hand, stupid," he laughed, and Steve, giving him a watery laugh as well, held his hand out between them. Bucky slipped the band around his ring finger with ease- seeing as he was as skinny as a stick- with an adoring smile playing on his lips. Steve couldn't help but give a truly joyful grin at that. 

"Now gimme your hand, jerk," he ordered in return, sarcastically stern. Bucky hummed in consent and held out his hand, letting Steve slip the other band around his own ring finger. 

After both rings were on, they just laid there for a while, staring at the silver-colored bands on their now-intertwined fingers, smiles tugging at the corners of both of their lips. The moment was very relaxed and intimate until Steve so eloquently said-

"So are you gonna say your fucking vows or what?"

This sent Bucky into a fit of genuine laughter, letting go of Steve's hand and rolling onto his back, which had Steve cracking up as well. 

"Smoothe, Stevie, smoothe."

"Yeah, yeah," Steve said, rolling his eyes and playfully swatting at the other's shoulder. "Laugh it up, doll face."

"Hey!" Bucky mock-yelled, jokingly indignant. "I'm supposed to be the one givin' the cute nicknames 'round here!" Steve smirked.

"Well ya know, I can be spontaneous sometimes, baby."

Bucky's head fell back on his pillow with soundless laughter. 

'This is it,' Steve thought. 'This is what tonight's supposed to look like.'

Eventually their laughter died down and Bucky, still laying on his back, smiled up at the ceiling. 

"You want some vows, huh?"

Steve chuckled.

"Sure do, pal."

***

It was in the early hours of the morning that they exchanged their vows, loving words, and their official kiss as a "newly wed" couple. They only fell asleep when they couldn't possibly hold their eyelids open a moment longer, becoming a tangle of legs and arms wrapped around each other.

It was at around 4 the next morning that their obnoxiously loud alarm clock went off, jolting them both from the depths of sleep. Bucky grunted groggily as he smacked the top of the metal clock a couple of times to silence it. He yawned, pulling himself up into a sitting position, and looked to his right to see Steve, blonde hair all tangled and messy, yawning and stretching his arms above his head (hitting the headboard in the process). He looked up at Bucky, and immediately felt his heart plummet. 

Bucky was leaving. He was set to get on the bus at around 5:30… 1 and a half hours from then. Bucky gave him a crooked smile.

"You gonna see my off, Stevie?"

"Of course," Steve replied, trying to keep his voice steady. "Why wouldn't I?"

He didn't want to show just how terrified and sad he felt. A sense of doom had settled in his stomach, a type of anxiety that could possibly be considered the worst. Many young men were going off to Europe to fight in the war. This was nothing unusual. But he still couldn't shake the nauseating feeling of doom. This wasn't just some random young man. This was Bucky.

"I just didn't know if… if you would be concerned about people suspecting us," Bucky said cautiously. "There's gonna be mostly dames there, the girls that these guys are leavin' behind… I jus' don't want people to think that you're there for the same reason and hurt you… especially if I'm not here." He looked truly concerned, and Steve didn't much like that look on him. He liked happy, mischievous, cocky Bucky, the one who got the attention from any girl he passed by, the one who was always sure of himself. He didn't like this Bucky. All he wanted was for him to stay here at home, for things to stay like they always had been.

"Well, damn them," Steve declared, far more strong and confident than he felt. "They can think whatever the hell they want, but I'll be damned if I'm not going with you." 

'I would rather be going with you on that bus,' he thought, almost bitterly. 'But I sure as hell ain't letting you leave without a proper goodbye.'

Bucky hesitated, but then grinned. 

"As expected of Steve Rogers," he joked. "Not giving two damns about what other people think, bein' too stubborn to let them tell him what to do." Steve scoffed.

"Alright, smart guy," he retorted. "You sound like you're reading a line from a newspaper 'bout me."

"Yeah, well maybe one day you'll be in the paper and I can say that shit all over again."

Steve snorted.

"Yeah, right," he snorted, rolling his eyes, voice dripping with sarcasm (he was quite good at that). "Who's gonna want to read an article about sickly, probably-won't-live-to-see-thirty Steve Rogers, hot-headed jerk with a righteousness complex."

Bucky laughed, but there wasn't much humor behind it. 

"Come on, pal, you know that ain't true. Jus' come on, we gotta eat an' get dressed. The bus is pickin' me up by the ol' St. Mary's church, and that's a good thirty minute's walk away."

Steve sighed, sitting up a little too quickly, making him light headed. Bucky had already gotten up and was now putting on his uniform (which should take around a year and a half with all those parts and buttons and the strictness around the presentation of the outfit). Scratching his head, he stood up as well, throwing on a pair of slacks and a T-shirt, then groggily walking into the kitchen. 

They had just enough coffee grounds left to make two rather small cups of coffee, and enough bread and butter for toast. Money was hard to come by for them these days, so they had to make due with what they had. 

Yawning, he saw Bucky enter the room, looking clean-cut and handsome as ever in his wrinkless uniform. 

"How do I look?" he asked jokingly, just as he had a few days prior.

Steve sighed, smirking, giving the same response that he had previously.

"Still queer as ever."

Bucky laughed dryly. He was trying not to show it, but he was incredibly nervous, and to Steve, who had known him for practically his entire life, it was blatantly obvious.

"Not as queer as you."

"Here hon," Steve said with a chuckle, pushing a plate of toast and coffee towards Bucky, urging him to sit down. "Eat your shit before I eat it for you." Bucky gave his usual cheeky grin, which came as something of a reassurance to Steve. That was Bucky's smile. That's the smile he knew.

"You wouldn't dare," he challenged with jest, sitting in one of the two rickety chairs by the table, giving Steve a peck on the lips from across it. Steve hummed.

"Oh, I would," Steve countered, toast and coffee in hand as he came over to sit next to him. They ate in silence, neither knowing what to say. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence because of the silence itself, but more because of the weight it held. 

Soon enough they would be leaving the apartment. Bucky wouldn't see their little home until the war was over, if ever again (but Steve didn't like to think about that possibility). And then Bucky would be boarding the bus that would take him away from Brooklyn and away from Steve, neither of them exactly sure when they would see each other again. 

***

They stopped by the Barnes household on their way to St. Mary's, a church in one of the less populated parts of Brooklyn, which could almost be considered rural. Mrs. Barnes embraced her son tightly, telling him how mature and handsome he looked in his new uniform, and kissed him on the cheek. Turning to Steve, she had told him that he was welcome at her home any time (and although it was not verbalized, they all knew it was because of Bucky's absence and her concern for Steve's health). Rebecca, one of Bucky's three sisters, gave him a hug and wished him luck, telling him that he better come home alive or he would have Hell to pay (oh, if only she knew). 

After the heartfelt goodbye's were done, they left the home, waving to a tearful Mrs. Barnes and rather stone-faced Rebecca as they left. 

"Ma tends to get a bit emotional," Bucky apologized, though Steve saw no reason to. It was an emotional time for everyone in the entire country. "She doesn't like me goin' off to Europe to fight some bull-headed Germans."

"Yeah, but you're gonna kick some Nazi ass and come home," Steve said indignantly, although he was trying to reassure himself more than anything else. "They ain't got nothin' on the U.S."

Bucky laughed. 

"Yeah, I suppose you're right." But although they didn't say it, neither of them fully believed that. The axis powers could very well win, and even if they didn't, Steve could still very well lose Bucky in the process. But what was he supposed to do besides pray to Jesus, God, Mother Mary, or whoever else he needed to ask to get Bucky home alive and in one piece. 

They arrived at the church all too soon. A small crowd of people had already formed at the front steps, all awaiting the bus’ arrival. Most of them were young men in their uniforms, looking clean-cut and proud as ever, an arm linked with their girl's, holding their hand, or having their girl clinging to their shoulder, looking timid and delicate as every good girl should be (which Steve had to roll his eyes at. Who gives a fuck about that? Let the lady do what she wants).

'Bucky might be the only guy without a dame,' Steve thought uneasily. Was it strange for a soldier's best guy to accompany him to the place where they were to say their goodbye's? Steve didn't know enough about it to be sure, but seeing all the other guys with their dames made his stomach do a flip. He started to feel a bit of hesitance, but soon quelled it, replacing it with determination. They could think he was a fairy all they wanted. It didn't matter to him. (He knew that wasn't true, of course, but he would deal with the possible consequences later.)

A moment later they were standing along with the others, some laughing and bantering between themselves, some chatting away with their girls, and others standing off to the side, rather solemn and quiet. The two of them made sure that they left enough distance between themselves, seeing as they didn't want to give anyone any reason to be suspicious.

"Hey!" a loud and somewhat cocky voice called. "Hey, you, new guy!" Bucky turned to the speaker and grinned.

"Hey man!" Bucky, ever the charmer, was already trying to make a good first impression with these guys. It was in his best interest anyway.

"What's your name, pal?" The speaker was a young man, perhaps twenty-three years of age, his face dotted with freckles, blue eyes twinkling, and a boyish grin that would be contagious in almost any other situation.

"James Barnes," Bucky replied in the same buddy-ol'-chum that the other was using. "And what about yours?

Steve had pretty much zoned out after that. Bucky was leaving. Bucky was going to be a soldier. Bucky might never come back. He would have to live without Bucky for who knows how long.

"Oh, that's jus' my pal, Steve," he heard Bucky say, bringing Steve out of his trance. Obviously the other young man had asked about him.

'Oh right. Just a friend.' He wanted to feel bitter, but he knew that Bucky's dismissive tone was only to protect them both.

The man, whose name was Jack apparently, turned to address him.

"Why'd you come an' see your buddy off?" he asked teasingly (or at least Steve hoped it was merely a tease). "Don't he have himself a girly that'd rather be here?"

"Well, why shouldn't I wanna see him off?" Steve asked, and he knew that it probably came out a tad too harsh. "I've known him longer 'n any dame has." Bucky chortled.

"Nah, I don't have myself a girl at the moment," he lamented comically. "But Stevie and I go way back. We've known each other since the first grade I believe." And then this bastard had to audacity to give Steve a good nuggy, making Steve glare up at him. He was already in a bad mood. Bucky was heading off to go fight in a goddamn war for christ's sake! But he knew that he was being unfair to Bucky. He was just trying to lighten the mood after all.

Jack nodded. "That sure is a long time."

Steve glanced up at Bucky who was currently moving on in conversation with this Jack fella, bantering back and forth. He took in his jawline, his clean-shaven face, the way that his eyes crinkled when he laughed, and even the shape of his nose. He wanted to commit it all to memory, down to the very last detail. Of course, he had a million drawings of Bucky in the various sketch books he had owned over the years, but he wanted to truly remember him. He wanted to savor these last few minutes. 

The bus arrived all too soon. The other fellas were kissing their girls goodbye, picking up what little luggage they had brought with them, and began filing into the bus, passing by the staunch, straight faced, no-bullshit commander that was standing at the door. Bucky turned to Steve, giving him a sad smile full of all the words he could not say, and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder.

"I'll see ya later, pal." He couldn't quite bring himself to say the words 'goodbye'.

Steve saw the chain around his neck which was tucked into his shirt, knowing that his ring hung from it so that his Bucky could keep him close at heart while so far away from home (yeah, it was cheesy, but at the moment Steve couldn’t bring himself to give a damn). He could hear the "I love you" behind those seemingly platonic words, the "I'll miss you more than you know" and the "take care of yourself while I'm gone". Steve knew, and as painful as that was, that was what mattered most.

"Yeah, sure thing," Steve responded, clearing his throat. He couldn't be getting choked up now. "Just come back alive or I swear to God I will kill you myself, ya jerk." Bucky chuckled his eyes watering slightly. 

"Sure thing, punk."

***

Steve waved along with the women, some of them with tears rolling down their cheeks, watching the bus drive away, and he didn't stop waving until the vehicle was completely out of sight. And suddenly he felt the urge to cry. To completely break down and sob. He couldn't stop repeating the same thought in his mind, one that reminded him that he might not ever see his best friend, his best guy, the person who he might even go as far as to say was the love of his life (seeing as that his life likely wouldn't last that long anyway) ever again. 

He walked home as fast as he could, which probably wasn't too good for his lungs, but at the moment he couldn't have cared less. He finally reached the door of what was now only his apartment, fumbled for his keys with a trembling hand, unlocking the door, and practically falling inside. Closing the door behind him, he collapsed onto the floor and cried his heart and lungs out for a good twenty minutes, all the while clutching the ring that he had strung on a chain around his neck.

'God Steve, you're acting as if he was already dead,' he thought, chastising himself. But this did nothing to curb his distress.

His sobs only subsided when his head hurt too much too continue and his chest became dangerously tight. He stayed on the floor in a vulnerable, curled up position for a few more minutes, staring blankly at the wall, his eyes red and puffy and his cheeks stained with by the trail of his tears. 

'You're just overreacting,' he told himself. 'Pick yourself up and keep going. It's what Bucky told you to do.'

Standing up shakily, he made his way into the living room, glancing at the dishes sitting by the sink from their breakfast. He glanced at the coat rack that still had Bucky's sweater hanging from it, one that he hadn't bothered to bring with him. His eyes wandered to the open book on the table that Bucky had been reading but never managed to finish, and the couch where they would often cuddle at the end of one of Bucky's long work days. He looked to the picture sitting on the small table beside the couch, the one of Bucky and his sisters, and the one next to it of Steve and him as young children, a ball under Bucky's arm and resting on his hip. 

Laying next to them was the sketch book that was chock full of drawings of Bucky, some of them including Steve's fantasies of them being able to go on a real date, holding hands while walking through the park, and surprising Bucky by showing up with a bagged lunch on his break at work. He had even drawn a picture of what their wedding would look like. He knew that there was the incredibly likely and dangerous possibility of someone looking through those damning pages, but Steve couldn't help himself. He needed to draw them.

Needing a distraction, he walked over to the radio and turned it on, static soon morphing into a tune. After a few moments he realized that he knew this song.

Vera Lynn's voice flowed from the box and into his ears, singing…

“We’ll meet again,  
don’t know where,  
don’t know when,  
but I know we’ll meet again  
some sunny day.  
Keep smiling through,  
just like you always do,  
‘til the blue skies drive the dark clouds  
far away.  
So will you please say ‘hello’  
to the folks that I know,  
tell them I won’t be long.  
They’ll be happy to know   
that as you saw me go,  
I was singing this song…  
We’ll meet again,  
don’t know where,  
don’t know when,

but I know we’ll meet again some sunny day.”

**Author's Note:**

> Again, the song is "We'll Meet Again" by Vera Lynn and it gives me such strong Steve/Bucky feels that it physically HURTS.  
> I hope you enjoyed the fic!! I almost cried writing it!!! Why did I do this!!!!


End file.
